by Richard Fox
“Gage is no fool,” Rapoto said. “He’s considered sending the boy prince to Geneva for safekeeping, hasn’t he? The Houses will never allow it, no matter what the Daegon do. We have our honor and it is better to die than live without it.” He narrowed his eyes slightly at Thorvald. “The Houses will never take in the boy…but they want Salis back. She can bring the boy with her if she chooses.”
“What? Why?”
“She is not of your House, Thorvald. Already…” He grasped at his throat as the AI tried to choke him off from saying more. “Said too much. Send her back with the boy. He’ll be safe.” He hacked and backed away.
Rapoto turned and ran, one hand to his throat.
The double bang came again.
“All clear on the external check. Returning now,” Thorvald said into a receiver on the back of his hand, then took his thumb off the key. “No, Grynau,” he said under his breath, “I don’t know what the hell’s going on either.”
****
Gage entered his quarters aboard the Orion and paused. The room smelled of toast and nutmeg, and a fresh uniform was laid out on his bunk. Thorvald stepped in front of him and drew a pistol off his hip.
Someone hummed a tune from within the attached galley and a shadow fell across the threshold between the two rooms. A female sailor carrying a tray had her eyes on the tea and crackers as she entered. She looked up and into Thorvald’s muzzle and shrieked. Crackers leapt off their plate and the kettle fell over, spilling hot tea across the tray and onto one of the sailor’s hand.
“Bugger me!” she shouted, trying and failing to keep the tea on the tray. Most of it sloshed out onto the deck.
“Who’re you?” Thorvald asked.
“Yeoman Emma,” she hissed through her teeth, setting the tray onto a desk, then wiping a burned hand on her apron. “Beggin’ the lordship’s pardon. I’m his steward until such time as Bertram can return. Bloody hell that hurts.”
“No one cleared this with me,” Thorvald said.
“Didn’t know I had to have my orders chopped off by a walking toaster, now did I?” She untied her apron and began mopping up the tea. “We’re almost out of the good brand and look what I’ve done. You’d think the Indus would have more but I’ll be a monkey’s uncle before anyone can get to ground to buy any.”
“It’s fine, Thorvald.” Gage pushed the Genevan’s wrist down. “I’m glad to have more help. Emma…” Gage narrowed his eyes. “I know that name from somewhere.”
“Was in the engineering complement,” she said, sitting back on her knees. “Was Captain Cox’s steward on the Huntress not too long ago, then there was a minor incident while on shore leave and I lost a bit of rank and privileges for a time.”
“You were in that bar brawl. The one that ended with several 11th Fleet sailors stealing a police car,” Gage said.
“I had nothing to do with that last bit…local bobbies already had me in custody when the other lads took off.” She looked away, guiltily. “But other than this fine first impression and my repeat visits to the captain’s mast…honored to be your steward, sire.”
“I don’t like this,” Thorvald said.
“Well, I’ve not gone sticking a hand cannon in your face for no reason, now have I?” Emma asked.
“Thorvald,” Gage said, going to the uniform laid out on the bed and looking it over, “I have the same twenty-four hours in a day as everyone else. I can spend that time bothering with my own laundry, meals and other tasks or I can have Emma on hand to handle these things for me. Every minute I’m concentrating on things not related to the command and operation of this fleet and the war against the Daegon…is time spent poorly. She’s invaluable…unless you want to take away from your duties to me and start ironing my pants.”
Thorvald holstered his pistol. “I’ll keep an eye on her,” the Genevan said.
“He does that to everyone.” Gage gave Emma a nod and went into his restroom to change clothes.
“Captain Price will have all the other ships’ masters in your wardroom in thirty minutes,” Emma said. “Perhaps enough time for a nip? I could get another kettle on…”
“Too long,” Gage said. “Have them over now.”
With a glare, Emma tossed her wet apron to Thorvald and went to a comm panel next to the door.
CHAPTER 11
Gage and Price stood in a passageway just outside the main door to the wardroom. Armsmen from a dozen ships lined the bulkheads, all escorts for their captains. Thorvald herded them away from the two officers as they spoke.
“How are the 2nd Fleet ships?” Gage asked.
“Battle cruisers Sterling and Adamant are fully mission capable,” Price said, reading from a tablet. “They weren’t happy about cross-levelling their torpedo magazines, but we’ll have the Orion and the rest of the cruisers partially loaded in another hour. Frigate Havoc and destroyers Gerber and Corvo are good for combat operations. That’s all that made it, sir, all that’s left of the 2nd.”
“And we’re lucky to have them,” Gage said. “Anything from…the other matter?”
“Comms confirmed a good deal of tight-beam cross talk between the Adamant and the Renown,” Price said, her face growing darker. “Seems Captain Arlyss had a long conversation with someone. I can guess who.”
“There’s no getting around this fight,” Gage said. “Better to have it now than in the middle of a battle. Shall we?”
“I’m with you, sire,” she said. “The Crown is Prince Aidan and no one else.”
“Thanks…and stop calling me that.” Gage keyed the door open and strode into the wardroom.
The assembled officers seemed surprised that Gage had come through the same door they had, and not the connection to the admiralty’s quarters on the other side of the room.
“Room, atten-tion!” Captain Vult shouted.
The officers snapped to their feet, all but Lady Christina, who sat at a small table in the corner with Arlyss…who got up so slowly that it looked like he was in pain.
“As you were.” Gage went to the desk at the fore of the room, which smelled brand-new from the ship’s foundry. The last one had been wrecked by the Daegon infiltrator that murdered Admiral Sartorious and the rest of the fleet’s captains.
“To our brothers and sisters from the 2nd Fleet,” Gage said, his eyes looking over a faint stain on the carpet, the phantom smell of blood and smoke in his nose, “welcome aboard the Orion. I trust you’ve been…informed as to what happened in this very room.”
“A tragic loss,” said Captain McGowan of the Sterling. His chest bore several racks of ribbons and the Saint Michael’s award, a medal given only for destroying an enemy vessel while in command of an Albion Navy ship. Only Gage and Commander Erskine of the Valiant had that award as well. “At least you survived.” McGowan took a sip from his tea, his eyes on Gage.
“Not for the lack of the Daegon’s trying,” Gage said. “All ships have completed the blood screening?” he asked Price.
“One likely suspect aboard the Havoc,” Price said. “Stepped out of an air lock before the armsmen could arrest him.”
“I had no reason to believe there was a Daegon agent aboard my ship,” said Commander Napier, who was rail-thin with sunken cheeks. Gage wasn’t sure if she was naturally that thin or if stress had eaten away at her.
“They’re quite adept at hiding in plain sight,” Gage said. “While that issue is resolved, keep your ships at ready alert at all times. We’ve had to deal with more than just sleeper agents. We’re on course back to New Madras but given our casualties, it’s more feasible to fold the remaining ships of the 2nd Fleet into the 11th for the duration of this—”
“Preposterous,” Lady Christina said and Gage’s face hardened. “By custom and tradition of the Albion Navy, the older 2nd Fleet has primacy in any reorganization. And while I agree with your thought to merge our commands, it will not be you or the 11th in charge.”
Gage put one hand on the desk, gently tapping fingertips
against the wood. “Lady Christina,” he said evenly, “may we discuss this in private?”
“We most certainly will not,” she said. “You’ve corrupted that Genevan of yours with some very convenient errors as to succession, but the laws and regulations of the Navy are most clear in this. There’s discussion over who is the true Regent, but as ranking officer of the more senior 2nd Fleet, I am in charge here.”
Several captains from the 11th, who’d been with Gage since the first Daegon attack on Siam, shifted uncomfortably. There were a number of glances among the slightly more than two dozen officers present.
“She is of the Crown’s bloodline,” Arlyss said. “By right she is the Regent until such time as Parliament can confirm her as chief executive…until Prince Aidan has reached the age of maturity, naturally.”
“Do you see any Parliament out here, Arlyss?” Gage asked.
“There are millions of Albion expats across settled space,” Arlyss said. “We can convene one in exile and—”
“Where?” Gage asked. “Would you have us hide behind the Reich’s skirts, beg for a bit of space on one of their worlds and pretend it’s the Exeter Palace? There is no place for us to go but back to Albion. That is our home. That is where are families are, where our history lives. We cannot retreat any further. We must turn this war around and we are not going to do it with…” he pointed at Lady Christina “…with any confusion as to who is in charge and why they are in charge. If we squabble in front of the Indus, we lose any and all authority. If we squabble, we’ll be no better than the Francia when they fled the Reich. Now they’re nothing better than pirates and they’ve abandoned all hope of reclaiming what they once had.”
“Then simply let go of any notion that you have some right to be in charge,” Arlyss said. “Enough playing at this, Gage. You’re common born. These are Albion officers.” He swept a hand across the room. “We are of the nobility, the class that made our nation great in service with the Crown. We’ve no desire to leave our fate in your hands, no matter how much misplaced faith Admiral Sartorious had in you. Lady Christina is the Regent. Let that settle the matter. Perhaps you can stay with Prince Aidan as a tutor.”
“If you claim Lady Christina is the Regent,” Price said, “then the Genevan can settle the matter, can’t he?”
“We don’t need a foreigner to arbitrate over Albion matters,” Captain McGowan said.
“Someone has already invited the Reich into this.” Gage looked at Christina.
“Was I wrong to accept Unter-Duke Klaven’s hospitality?” she asked.
A number of officers cleared their throats a bit too loudly.
“2nd Fleet owes its lives to the Castle Itter,” Arlyss said. “The Reich defended—”
“They did no such thing,” said Captain Allen of the Adamant. “On Lady Christina’s orders we disengaged from the Daegon attack, leaving most of our frigate and destroyer complement behind in contact to buy us time to get away. The Castle Itter never fired a shot. The enemy broke off pursuit once we reached the Reich’s engagement envelope.”
Commander Erskine of the Valiant knocked on a table for attention. “My father served aboard the Grand Isle with King Randolph. He always spoke highly of the Genevan complement. Never in their history have they ever been party to a coup or revolution. They always protect the rightful leaders of a star nation, and the lines of succession are laid out for them. If this Genevan will not endorse Lady Christina, then that is the will of King Randolph, God rest his soul.”
Arguments broke out, with more officers migrating toward Gage’s side of the room than Lady Christina’s. The captains of the larger ships—all part of the larger, more powerful noble families—seemed to favor Christina, while the captains of smaller vessels—and with few to any familial holdings—to Gage.
“Enough!” Gage picked up a tea saucer and broke it against the side of the desk and the room went silent. “Thorvald, who is the Regent? Lady Christina or I?”
“Commodore Gage is Regent,” he said. “In times such as this, we Genevans have a test…the Asimov Test. AIs are incorruptible. They will defend who they are programmed to defend without fail. If you all would prefer, I can remove myself from this suit and the AI can operate it.”
“What good is that?” Arlyss asked. “An empty suit that—”
“Grynau,” said the Genevan, touching his chest, “does not need me. I can leave this suit and then we will carry out the Asimov Test. The two under consideration, Gage and Christina, will pick a second. Then they will stand shoulder to shoulder while their seconds each take aim with a pistol loaded with one bullet. Both fire. The AI will protect the rightful Regent. The other will receive a bullet.”
“That…” stuttered Lady Christina, her chubby cheeks going pale, “that can’t be real. You’re making all this up.”
“I’ve heard of this,” Captain Allen said, “quite common in the Cathay Dynasty. They used it in the Biafara Empire around the turn of the century. Something like a dozen of their nobles ate a bullet before they accepted the old ruler’s illegitimate daughter as the new leader.”
“It’s ridiculous!” Christina backed against a bulkhead. “We can’t let our leadership be chosen through some sort of-of-of Russian roulette!”
“There’s an element of chance in that,” Thorvald said. “Not with the Asimov Test.”
“I agree to it.” Gage pointed to a bulkhead. “Price. Get your sidearm. Lady Christina can choose who she likes. It’s not like this room hasn’t seen its share of spilled blood.” He unbuttoned his uniform top and shrugged it off his shoulders.
“Wait. What?” Christina looked as pale as a ghost. “No…I absolutely will not be a part of this.”
“Then you doubt your claim,” Captain McGowan said and stepped across the room to where the officers supporting Gage had gathered. One by one, the rest of her backers moved over…except for Arlyss.
“But if she…” said Arlyss, who had gone red in stark contrast to Christina, “if she isn’t then…pardon me, my lady.” He lowered his head and changed sides.
“This is the end of discussion,” Gage said. “2nd Fleet will be merged with the 11th. Lady Christina, according to records, you were in command of the logistics ship Bawiach…which was lost to the Daegon. Return to the Renown with Captain Arlyss. He’ll see you transferred to the Helga’s Folly once we return to New Madras. We’ll put your merchant marine experience to use there. Questions?”
The room was silent.
“Dismissed.” He swung his uniform top back on as the officers filed out…all but McGowan.
“Thomas,” McGowan said, shaking his hand, “all things considered, it’s good to see you again. Shame about Barlow. A good man.”
“He died in service to Albion. You and he were on the fencing team at the Academy, that right, Jules?” Gage asked.
“That’s right. Both majored in void engineering. I must apologize for the show.” He tilted his head slightly to the wardroom, empty of everything but half-empty teacups, furniture and Thorvald. “I wouldn’t follow Christina out of curiosity, but some of the bluer bloods out there needed to be led by the nose a bit. You were…you were willing to get shot right then, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” Gage huffed in surprise.
“If the Asimov Test hadn’t worked out in your favor, I’d have envied you. Better cooling on a slab somewhere than trying to clean up after that nitwit,” McGowan said.
“You’re the captain of the Sterling,” Gage said. “You had command authority after the Daegon destroyed your fleet’s flagship, the Nimrod. Why did you let Christina take over?”
“It wasn’t a matter of following her orders…it was just that she had the same ideas I did when it became obvious we couldn’t beat the Daegon. I’m disgusted with myself for running off.” McGowan swallowed hard. “But there’s no honor is suicide. And then to rely on the Reich…I half hoped they’d decide to take Christina hostage after we arrived in system, demand our full surrender.”
“How would that have turned out?”
“Bad for them. They’d have had to keep feeding her as we laughed and set our own course to New Madras,” McGowan said. “I’m with you, Gage. Albion’s light burns.”
“And we carry the torch.” The two shook again.
An alert chimed.
“Bridge to the Commodore,” came from a speaker in the ceiling. “Indus void forces have gone on high alert.”
“Doubt this is another pleasant surprise that’s cropped up in the outer system,” Gage said.
“Back to my ship,” McGowan said. “Good hunting.”
CHAPTER 12
James Seaver ran at a crouch, bullets striking a wall just over his head. He rolled forward and landed hard on his rifle, pain ripping up his arm and shoulder. He grabbed the edge of the wall and yanked himself forward. He came around the edge and found three men in the same matte black uniform as his, but with a red sash over their chests and red cloth tied around the stocks of their rifles.
He pulled the trigger on the unfamiliar weapon he carried and it rattled in his grasp as heavy caliber bullets ripped out. His targets jerked as the rounds hit. They fell over, limbs stiff and rifles still gripped in their hands.
“Point clear!” Seaver shouted through a window as he plucked magazines out of the fallen soldiers.
Soldiers with blue sashes rushed into the building, panting from a quick sprint.
“Forward,” the word stung his ear from a small bead implanted behind his jaw and a torque around his neck tightened, restricting his airway enough to get his attention.
“You heard her,” Powell said, a young woman that looked equally terrified and exhausted from the effort.
“She knows about that machine gun position?” Inez did a quick peak over a window sill and dropped down as bullets smacked into the house.
“It knows about us,” Seaver went for a stair well, stepping over a fallen man in red and bounded up to the next level. He ran for the back of the room, empty but for a few discarded water bottles and climbed out of a window.